


Little Fingers

by n3r0



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, if you read the tags clicked anyway and are like OMG THIS IS INCEST? then you're dumb and i hate you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n3r0/pseuds/n3r0
Summary: i don't wanna hear jack shit about it they're in love thank you and goodbye
Relationships: Miyacest - Relationship, Osamu/Atsumu
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	Little Fingers

Osamu’s hands are bigger than Atsumu’s. Not by much. It’s actually not even noticeable if you aren’t measuring them yourself. Atsumu knows, though. Atsumu knows and he thinks about it often out of genuine, irrational fury. He’s known it since they were kids without even really knowing how he knew. Osamu has never mentioned it, not once, but Atsumu’s mind is plagued with it. Infected with the knowledge and stained by it, so much so that it pops up every now and then at random.

Brushing his teeth? He’s looking at his free hand and brushing a little bit harder. It isn’t quite fair, he thinks. Osamu’s hands shouldn’t be longer, he’s a spiker. Not a setter.

His hands should be shorter and more square, he thinks. Maybe not, though.

There’s a memory creeping back up now. Their hands touching but not quite. Osamu’s hand is on the bed, leaned back on it while he holds manga in the other, a popsicle stick hanging out of his mouth. Osamu has a beauty mark on his left hand, nestled in the cradle of the webbing between his forefinger and middle. It’s the only beauty mark he’s got and it’s only there if you look long enough. Atsumu can’t count the number of times his eyes have snagged on it, like a thread on a nail. Hooking him and tugging him back to make him stare because it’s not even that dark. Just small, brown, faded into the skin. 

“What’re y’lookin’ at?” Osamu’s voice cracks through the silence so vividly in this memory. Even if it’s faded at the corners, Atsumu remembers it being summer. Humid, hot. He remembers it was the afternoon, too, the sun’s broiling little fingers creeping in through the blinds. 

“You got a mark there,” Atsumu says.

They’re 12.

“So? Y’knew that already.” Osamu’s not looking at him but Atsumu knows by the tone in his voice that he’s no longer reading. For one, Osamu’s holding a copy of Parasyte, something that Atsumu just couldn’t really get into. “Don’t like it? Quit starin’ at it, then.”

“Never said I don’t like it…”

There’s a heavy silence that follows. Atsumu is on the floor by the bed, messing with a wrinkle in the sheets. He drags his finger over it to smooth it out, just for it to hump back up. He likes the way the fabric feels against the callous on his finger. The manga flutters shut and the silence drags out until Osamu’s flopping onto his side to do it with him. He chases his finger after Atsumu’s and Atsumu does his best to avoid it. It’s a stupid game with rules that neither mention but simply know. The beauty mark is always the target for Atsumu, though.

It remains the target for the rest of summer, his eyes always somehow falling to it no matter what they’re doing. Running by the river, playing volleyball, eating. His eyes seem to just seek it out. A comfort type of thing. 

An assurance of some kind that soothes a bone deep feeling that he can’t name and will never be able to.


End file.
